Key Of Knowledge (2 page)

Pitte stood at the mantel, a glass of amber liquid in his
hand. The warrior at the gate, Dana thought. He was tall, dark, dangerously handsome, with a muscular and ready build that his elegant black suit couldn't disguise.

It was easy to imagine him wearing light armor and carrying a sword. Or sitting astride a huge black horse and wearing a cape that billowed at the gallop.

He gave a slight and courtly bow as they entered.

Dana started to speak, then a movement caught the corner of her eye. The friendly smile vanished from her face, her brows beetled, and her eyes flashed pure annoyance.

“What's he doing here?”

“He,” Jordan said dryly as he lifted a glass, “was invited.”

“Of course.” Smoothly, Rowena pressed a flute of champagne into Dana's hand. “Pitte and I are delighted to have all of you here tonight. Please, be at home. Malory, you must tell me how plans are progressing on your gallery.”

With another flute of champagne and a gentle nudge, Rowena had Malory moving toward a chair. After one look at his sister's face, Flynn chose the better part of valor and followed them.

Refusing to retreat, Dana sipped her champagne and scowled at Jordan over the crystal rim of her glass. “Your part in this is finished.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Either way I get an invitation to dinner from a beautiful woman, especially if she happens to be a goddess, I accept. Nice threads,” he commented and fingered the cuff of Dana's jacket.

“Hands off.” She jerked her arm out of reach, then plucked a canapé from a tray. “And stay out of my way.”

“I'm not in your way.” His voice remained mild, and he took a lazy sip of his drink.

Even though Dana wore heeled boots, he had a couple of inches on her. Which was just one more reason to find him irritating. Like Pitte, he could have posed for one of the stone warriors. He was six-three, every inch of it well
packed. His dark hair could've used a trim, but that slightly curly, slightly unkempt, slightly too long style suited the power of his face.

He was, always had been, lustily handsome, with blazing blue eyes under black brows, the long nose, the wide mouth, the strong bones combining in a look that could be charming or intimidating depending on his purpose.

Worse, Dana thought, he had an agile and clever mind inside that rock-hard skull. And an innate talent that had made him a wildly successful novelist before he'd hit thirty.

Once, she'd believed they would build a life side by side. But to her mind he'd chosen his fame and his fortune over her.

And in her heart she had never forgiven him for it.

“There are two more keys,” he reminded her. “If finding them is important to you, you should be grateful for help. Whatever the source.”

“I don't need your help. So feel free to head back to New York anytime.”

“I'm going to see this through. Better get used to it.”

She snorted, then popped another canapé. “What's in it for you?”

“You really want to know?”

She shrugged. “I couldn't care less. But I'd think even someone with your limited sensitivity would be aware that you bunking at Flynn's is putting a crimp in the works for the turtledoves there.”

Jordan followed her direction, noted Flynn sitting with Malory, and the way his friend absently played with the curling ends of her blond hair.

“I know how to keep out of their way, too. She's good for him,” Jordan added.

Whatever else she could say about Jordan—and there was plenty—she couldn't deny that he loved Flynn. So she
swallowed some of the bitterness, and washed the taste of it away with champagne.

“Yeah, she is. They're good for each other.”

“She won't move in with him.”

Dana blinked. “He asked her to move in? To live with him? And she said no?”

“Not exactly. But the lady has conditions.”

“Which are?”

“Actual furniture in the living room and he has to redo the kitchen.”

“No kidding?” The idea had Dana feeling both amused and sentimental at once. “That's our Mal. Before Flynn knows it, he'll be living in an real house instead of a building with doors and windows and packing boxes.”

“He bought dishes. The kind you wash, not the kind you chuck in the trash.”

The amusement peaked, bringing shallow dimples to her cheeks. “He did not.”

“And knives and forks that aren't plastic.”

“Oh, my God, stemware could be next.”

“I'm afraid so.”

She let out a roll of laughter, toasted to her brother's back. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

“That's something I've missed,” Jordan murmured. “That's the first time I've heard you laugh and mean it since I've been back.”

She sobered instantly. “It didn't have anything to do with you.”

“Don't I know it.”

Before she could speak again, Zoe McCourt rushed into the room, steps ahead of Bradley Vane. She looked flustered, irritated, and embarrassed. Like a sexy wood sprite, Dana thought, who'd had a particularly bad day.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I'm late.”

She wore a short, clingy black dress with long, snug sleeves and an abbreviated hem that showcased her slim
and sinuous curves. Her hair, black and glossy, was short and straight with a long fringe of bangs accenting long-lidded amber eyes.

Behind her, Brad looked like some golden faerie-tale prince in an Italian suit.

Seeing them together made Dana think what a stunning couple they made—if you didn't count the frustration emanating from Zoe, or the uncharacteristic stiffness in Brad's stance.

“Don't be silly.” Rowena was already up and crossing to them. “You're not at all late.”

“I am. My car. I had trouble with my car. They were supposed to fix it, but . . . Well, I'm very grateful Bradley was driving by and stopped.”

She didn't sound grateful, Dana noted. She sounded pissed, with that hint of the West Virginia hills in her voice giving the temper a nice little edge.

Rowena made sympathetic noises as she led Zoe to a chair, served her champagne.

“I think I could've fixed it,” Zoe muttered.

“That may be.” With obvious gratitude, Bradley accepted a drink. “But you'd have ended up with grease all over your dress. Then you'd have needed to go home and change and you'd've been even later. It's hardly a slap in the face to accept a ride from someone you know who's going to exactly the same place at the same time.”

“I said I was grateful,” Zoe shot back, then took a deep breath. “I'm sorry,” she said to the room in general. “It's been one of those days. And I'm nervous on top of it. I hope I haven't held anything up.”

“Not at all.” Rowena brushed a hand over her shoulder as a servant came to the archway and announced dinner. “There, you see? Right on time.”

IT wasn't every day you ate rack of lamb in a castle on a mountaintop in Pennsylvania. The fact that the dining room had twelve-foot ceilings, a trio of chandeliers sparkling with white and red crystal drops, and a ruby granite fireplace big enough to hold the population of Rhode Island certainly added to the perks.

The atmosphere should have been intimidating and formal, yet it was welcoming. Not the sort of place you'd chow down on pepperoni pizza, Dana reflected, but a nice ambience for sharing an exquisitely prepared meal with interesting people.

Conversation flowed—travel, books, business. It showed Dana the power of their hosts. It wasn't the norm for a librarian from a small valley town to sit around and break bread with a couple of Celtic gods, but Rowena and Pitte made it
seem
normal.

And what was to come, the next step in the quest, was a subject no one broached.

Because she was seated between Brad and Jordan, Dana angled herself toward Brad and spent as much of the meal as possible ignoring her other dinner partner.

“What did you do to make Zoe mad?”

Brad flicked a glance across the table. “Apparently, I breathed.”

“Come on.” Dana gave him a little elbow poke. “Zoe's not like that. What did you do? Did you hit on her?”

“I did not hit on her.” Years of training kept his voice low, but the acid in it was still evident. “Maybe it annoyed her that I refused to muck around in her engine, and wouldn't let her muck around in it either, as we were both dressed for dinner and were already running late.”

Dana's eyebrows rose. “Well, well. Seems she got your back up, too.”

“I don't care to be called high-handed and bossy just because I point out the obvious.”

Now she smiled, leaned over and pinched his cheek. “But, honey, you
are
high-handed and bossy. That's why I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” But his lips twitched. “Then how come we've never had wild and crazy sex?”

“I don't know. Let me get back to you on that.” She speared another bite of lamb. “Guess you've been to a lot of snazzy dinners like this, in snazzy places like this.”

“There is no other place like this.”

It was easy for her to forget that her buddy Brad was Bradley Charles Vane IV, heir apparent to a lumber empire that had built one of the country's largest and most accessible home improvement and supply chains, HomeMakers.

But seeing how smoothly he slid into this sort of sophisticated atmosphere reminded her that he was a great deal more than just the hometown boy.

“Didn't your dad buy some big castle place in Scotland a few years back?”

“Manor house, Cornwall. And, yeah, it's pretty incredible. She's not eating much,” he murmured and gave a little nod toward Zoe.

“She's just nervous. Me too,” Dana added, then cut another bite of lamb. “But nothing kills my appetite.” She heard Jordan laugh, and the deep male sound of it cruised along her skin. Deliberately, she ate the lamb. “Absolutely nothing.”

SHE was spending most of her time ignoring him, and taking swipes with whatever time she had left over. That, Jordan thought, was Dana's usual pattern when it came to him.

He should be used to it.

So the fact that it bothered him so much was his problem. Just as finding a way to make them friends again was his mission.

They'd once been friends. And a great deal more. The fact
that they weren't now was his fault, and he would take the rap for it. But just how long was a man supposed to pay for ending a relationship? Wasn't there a statute of limitations?

She looked incredible, he decided as they gathered back in the parlor for coffee and brandy. But then, he'd always liked her looks, even when she'd been a kid, too tall for her age and with that pudge of baby fat still in her cheeks.

There was no baby fat in evidence now. Anywhere. Just curves, a lot of gorgeous curves.

She'd done something to her hair, he realized, some girl thing that added mysterious light to that dense brown. It made her eyes seem darker, deeper. God, how many times had he felt himself drowning in those rich chocolate eyes?

Hadn't he been entitled to come up for air?

In any case, he'd meant what he'd said to her before. He was back now, and she was just going to have to get used to it. Just as she would have to get used to the fact that he was part of this tangle she'd gotten herself into.

She was going to have to deal with him. And it would be his pleasure to make sure she had to deal with him as often as possible.

Rowena rose. There was something in the movement, in the look of her, that tickled something at the edge of Jordan's memory. Then she stepped forward, smiled, and the moment passed.

“If you're ready, we should begin. I think it's more suitable if we continue this in the other parlor.”

“I'm ready.” Dana got to her feet, then looked at Zoe. “You?”

“Yeah.” Though she paled a bit, Zoe clasped hands with Dana. “The first time, all I could think was don't let me be first. Now I just don't know.”

“Me either.”

They moved down the great hall to the next parlor. It didn't help to brace himself, Jordan knew. The portrait swamped him, as it had the first time he'd seen it.

The colors, the sheer brilliance of them, the joy and beauty of subject and execution. And the shock of seeing Dana's body, Dana's face—Dana's eyes looking back at him from the canvas.

The Daughters of Glass
.

They had names, and he knew them now. Niniane, Venora, Kyna. But when he looked at the portrait, he saw them, thought of them as Dana, Malory, and Zoe.

The world around them was a glory of sunlight and flowers.

Malory, dressed in a gown of lapis blue, with her rich gold curls spilling nearly to her waist, held a lap harp. Zoe stood, slim and straight in her shimmering green dress, a puppy in her arms, a sword at her hip. Dana, her dark eyes lit with laughter, was gowned in fiery red. She was seated and held a scroll and quill.

They were a unit in that moment of time, in that jewel-bright world behind the Curtain of Dreams. But it was only a moment, and even then the end was lurking.

In the deep green of the forest, the shadow of a man. On the silver tiles, the sinuous glide of a snake.

Far in the background, under the graceful branches of a tree, lovers embraced. Teacher and guard, too wrapped up in each other to sense the danger to their charges.

And cannily, cleverly hidden in the painting, the three keys. One in the shape of a bird that winged its way through the impossibly blue sky, another reflecting in the water of the fountain behind the daughters, and the third secreted among the branches of the forest.

He knew Rowena had painted it from memory—and that her memory was long.

And he knew from what Malory had discovered and experienced, that moments after this slice of time, the souls of the daughters had been stolen and locked away in a box of glass.

Pitte lifted a carved box, opened the lid. “Inside are two disks, one with the emblem of the key. Whoever
chooses the scribed disk is charged to find the second key.”